Broken Curses
by JLBtiger92
Summary: It's October 2004, Riley's girlfriend Lyss is a diehard Red Sox fan, and the Sox are down 3-0 in the ALCS! Follow the NT gang through the week that changed Red Sox Nation forever. Rated for language. Riley/OC. NO YANKEE FANS :P
1. ALCS Game 3

**AN: Alyssa is the only character that's mine. If you're a Yankee fan, I'd advise you not to read this, because I don't want a million anti-Sox comments in the reviews.**

_Chapter 1: ALCS Game 3_

Lyss buried her face in her hands. "19-8," she muttered angrily. "Holy shit, guys, 19-8? Seriously! And now you're down 3-0. No team has ever come back from a three-zero deficit in a best of seven series!"

"I thought two hockey teams did that once," Riley said.

Lyss shot Riley a Look. "I meant _baseball_, Riley," she snapped.

Riley wasn't fazed by his girlfriend's rudeness. He sat down next to her and put a hand on her back. "Lyss, it's all right," he said. "You never know. The Red Sox could –"

"Ri, it's im-freaking-possible!" Lyss interrupted, tossing her well-worn Sox hat to the floor. "It's all Harry Frazee's fault! He never should have sold Babe Ruth! He cursed us!"

"Come on, Lyss, there's no such things as curses," Riley said, wanting to believe that himself. He did, after all, make a living on treasures and puzzles and such.

"Prove it," Lyss shot back. She was not in the mood to argue the existence of the Curse of the Bambino. "Tell that to people that have been at this for 86 years, wishing and hoping, and constantly being let down like you don't even want to believe."

Riley sighed. "You want me to prove it? Fine. I'll call Ben."

"Are you out of your mind? Trying to tell Ben Gates that curses don't exist is like trying to tell _Bill _Gates that Macs are better than PCs."

Riley ignored her remark. He scooted over to the phone, dialed Ben, and hit speaker. "Y'ello?" came Ben's voice.

"Ben, hey, it's me. I got you on speaker phone."

"Oh, hey, Riley, what's up?"

Riley sighed. "Lyss is going nuts. I need you to help me convince her that the Curse doesn't exist."

Ben made a funny noise. It sounded like a combination of a snort and a cough. "What, are you kidding? There's nothing else that can really explain everything that's happened over the past 78 –"

"Eighty-six," Lyss yelled irately into the phone.

"Fine, eighty-six years, to the Red Sox. You've got Bucky Dent in '78, the 'Impossible Dream' in '67, Enos Slaughter in '46, the Big Red Machine in '75, Bill Buckner in '86, Aaron Boone last year –"

With each hardship Ben named, Lyss became more and more tense. "STOP IT!" she finally shrieked, making Riley jump. "Haven't I been scarred _enough _for one night?"

"Sorry," Riley and Ben said in unison.

Lyss grimaced. "Whatever. I'm going to bed." She got off the couch and stomped up the stairs, swearing all the way.

Riley groaned. "Thanks a _lot_, Ben," he said sarcastically.

"There's another game tomorrow, isn't there?" Ben asked.

"Yeah, but see, the Sox are down three games to none."

Ben paused. "You got your computer on? Check to see what the Red Sox's odds are for coming back."

Riley punched a few numbers into his laptop. A screen came up, and Riley let loose a very audible groan.

"Well, what are the odds?" Ben asked.

"Let's just say, the Red Sox coming back from this is less plausible than the sun becoming a supernova."

Ben gagged. "But our Sun isn't the kind of star that _can _supernova, Riley."

"You think I don't know that?" Riley barked. "What I'm trying to say, Ben, is that the Red Sox are screwed."

**AN: Please review! NO ANTI-RED SOX COMMENTS!**


	2. ALCS Game 4

**AN: I'm kind of on a roll here...please review.**

_Chapter 2: ALCS Game 4_

"Lyss, get in here, please," Riley called.

Lyss groaned. "I am NOT watching that game, Riley Poole. They're going to lose and break my heart, and it'll be yet another winter of despair."

Riley walked into the bedroom and grabbed Lyss by the ankles. "Alyssa Eunice Kennedy, you have not missed a Red Sox game since you were five years old. You are coming with me."

_"I am not leaving this room!" _Lyss screamed, gripping the headboard.

Riley let go of Lyss and picked up the remote for the bedroom TV. "Okay, we'll just watch it in here. But I gotta warn you, Ben's coming over to watch it, too."

"Gaaaaaahhhhhh!" Lyss moaned. "Really, Riley! Will I _ever _win?"

"Depends on what you mean by that," retorted Riley. "Now move over. Ben's going to want the chair."

* * *

It was the bottom of the ninth inning, and Mariano Rivera was on the mound for the Yankees. Lyss seemed to actually be enjoying the game, much to Riley's delight. She had cheered wildly when the Sox had gained only their second lead in the Series with David Ortiz's single to center field. However, her mood had gone downhill, for now the Red Sox were three outs away from elimination.

"You enjoying this, Alyssa?" Ben asked.

Lyss shrugged. "I guess so. But I'm not so sure. I mean, three more outs, and they're done."

Right as she said that, Rivera threw a walk to Kevin Millar, and Dave Roberts was chosen as a pinch runner. Lyss perked up. "Roberts! He's good."

Seconds later, Lyss let out a scream. "OH MY GOD! Look! Ben! Riley! Oh my GOD!"

Riley stared confusedly at the TV. Fenway Park was flipping out just like Lyss. "What the hell is going on? What just happened?"

Ben's eyes bugged. "I…I think Dave Roberts just stole second! And he's _safe!_"

Lyss had tears in her eyes. "Oh my lord! This is _intense._"

"Look. Bill Mueller's up," Riley said. "And the pitch…dear lord, it's a single!"

"ROBERTS! DAVE, GO! _FREAKING YEAH!_" Lyss screamed. "He just SCORED! IT'S TIED! _OH MY GOD!_"

"Still confident with those odds, Riley?" Ben asked his friend, jabbing him in the shoulder.

Riley gave Ben a look. "They haven't won yet. And remember, if they do, they're still down 3-1. You should _know _that, Ben, you're a treasure hunter. You live for the impossible."

"Treasure _protector. _And we proved that impossibility barely exists_,_" Ben corrected.

"Shut up and watch the game, Ben."

* * *

"Lyss, I'm tired!" Riley whined. "How long has this game been?"

Lyss rolled her eyes. "It's only one in the morning. This game started at eight-thirty p.m."

"_Only _one in the morning?" Ben grouched. "Alyssa, seriously, this has got to be the longest game in baseball history or something, and who knows how much longer it'll last?"

"Okay. One, it is the longest game in _postseason_ history," Lyss snapped. "Two, it probably won't last much longer. You think you're tired, imagine how tired the players are."

Riley rested his chin in his hand and looked sleepily at the TV. "David Ortiz is up," he yawned.

"OH! Big Papi!" Lyss cried. This was followed by another scream. "HOME RUN! The Sox WON! Holy CRAP!"

Ben and Riley gaped at the TV as Ortiz rounded the bases, hand in the air and doing the "we're #1" signal. Lyss was sobbing. "They won! They won! They actually won!" She paused to regain her composure, and then said:

"Riley, Ben, we meet back here at 5 p.m. for Game 5. Be late and die."

Riley had never heard Lyss speak this way before. She was like a drill sergeant, but hotter.

But she wasn't a drill sergeant. All she was was a Red Sox fan.

**AN: Reviews are love!**


	3. ALCS Game 5

**AN: I've realized this bears similarities to the film _Fever Pitch. _So, I don't own that either, but that's partly where I got the inspiration for this. Okay? Okay.**

_Chapter 3: ALCS Game 5_

Lyss was in rare form. She had baked cookies shaped like little socks in preparation for the game, and she was even wearing the same outfit she had worn the night before. Riley found the latter a bit freaky, but said nothing, for fear of getting a lecture on the importance of tradition and luck in Red Sox Nation.

"If there's one thing Red Sox fans are, it's superstitious," Lyss had said.

At 5 p.m., Riley, Ben, and Lyss were back in the exact same spots where they had watched Game 4: Lyss and Riley stretched out on the bed, and Ben in the easy chair next to them.

"Alyssa, is this going to last five hours like last night's game did? I still haven't recovered," Ben said.

Lyss glared at Ben. "I don't care if this game lasts till _Christmas_," she barked. "It's Red Sox postseason baseball. You don't screw around with Red Sox postseason baseball."

"Sorry…I grew up a Phillies fan. I don't know this stuff," Ben stammered, taken aback by Lyss's belligerence. He leaned over and whispered to Riley, "Is she _always _like this?"

"I heard that!" cried Lyss. "And when it comes to the Red Sox, yes, I am!"

* * *

It was now the bottom of the first inning. David Ortiz had just scored a run to give the Sox a 1-0 lead, and Lyss was ecstatic. Now Jason Varitek was up, and the bases were fully loaded.

"Come on, Tek! Kick some Yankee ass! You're certainly hot enough!" Lyss yelled.

Riley stared at Lyss. "'You're certainly _hot _enough?' Do I sense some competition for your heart here? Because if it's true, I don't know if I want you watching this."

Riley never got an answer, because just then, Varitek walked to drive in another run. Just as she'd done the previous night, Lyss flipped out, while Ben and Riley stared at the TV, hardly believing what they were seeing.

"Holy crap…they really _are _kicking ass," Riley said.

Ben nodded. "And what were their odds of losing this series the other night?"

"Pretty much a one-in-a-million chance," answered Riley.

* * *

Tony Clark was up for the Yankees in the top of the ninth. There was one out left in the inning, and if Clark scored, the game – and series – would be over. Lyss had already chewed her fingernails down to the nubs, so now she was nervously sucking on a Tootsie Pop. "Don't, don't, don't, don't…." she muttered under her breath.

Clark swung, and the ball was hit deep to right. "NO!" screamed Lyss. "NO, NO, NO!"

"Wait, Alyssa…look!" Ben gasped, pointing.

An instant replay was being shown on the screen. Lyss watched as Clark hit the ball into right field, and then – miraculously – the ball did a strange bounce into the seats for a ground rule double.

"What the _hell_?" cried Lyss. "But…it was deep…oh my god, this is _awesome!_"

Ben watched as the replay was shown again. "That could've taken a run off the board for the Yankees," the announcer was saying.

"That…never happens in our favor," Lyss gasped. "If that had happened any other time, it would have been in the Yankees' favor. It's like…this is so weird…"

Riley looked over at his girlfriend. She was chalk white and was staring zombie-like at the TV. "Lyss? Are you all right?"

"I'm more than all right!" Lyss giggled. "The Red Sox are still alive!"

* * *

"I think this game may last till Christmas after all," Ben yawned. It was the bottom of the fourteenth inning, and it was already past 1 a.m., causing Lyss to comment that the record of the previous night's length had been broken. "It's the fourteenth inning and nobody's scored a run since the eighth…"

"Shut up," Lyss said. "This game has to end at some point."

Just then, Manny Ramirez walked, bringing up David Ortiz. "If he does what he did last night again, I swear, I'm going to die," Lyss announced.

Esteban Loaiza, the Yankee pitcher, threw pitch after pitch after pitch to Ortiz, not once getting a satisfactory result. Lyss put her chin in her hand. "Six…seven…eight…nine…" she muttered, counting the pitches.

"_Nine pitches? _Do something, already!" Riley cried. Lyss and Ben stared at him. Riley blushed. "I'm…getting into it," he murmured.

On the tenth pitch, Ortiz slammed a single to center. Lyss and Riley jumped off the bed and screamed. "He did it again! Oh my god! Game 6 in NYC tonight, _bitch_!" Lyss cried, high-fiving Riley and Ben.

Even Ben was smiling. "Alyssa, I think you're turning Riley and me into Red Sox fans," he said, patting Lyss on the shoulder. "What time do you want me here tonight for Game 6?"

Lyss was glowing. "7:45," she laughed. "Wear a Sox shirt if you have one."

"You got it," Ben said. "Go Sox!"


End file.
